Ragnar moved through his Ravenblood Forest, a limp quail clutched in the firm grasp of his jaws, salvia dripping down along the bird’s rich feathers. It made Ragnar hungry to clutch and taste the bird. It was a decadent torture because the quail was not for him. He had went through the pains of hunting it, nearly losing it twice when it had squirmed out of his grasp and rose into the air but fortune had smiled upon him for the silver Viking had finally caught it. It wasn’t even for his wife. While it was true she had claimed to not have much of an appetite Ragnar had not failed to bring her food continuously in the hopes that she would eat and be strong to be able to go through the hours of labor that were upon her in any given minute. She was due to give birth within the day, hours maybe, even. Though she had not complained of pain he had heard her soft gasps — very different from the surprise gasps when the children kicked; no these gasps were harder and Ragnar sensed (perhaps a paternal instinct) that his children were soon for the world. The quail had been a sacrifice to Odinn and Ragnar planned to bring it to Huginn and Muninn who frequented the forest often for the Allfather to consume in his honor and to carry a prayer to the Allfather, as well.

He had just reached the tree — a crab apple tree that resembled very closely the tree of life, the nine realms identifiable upon it, the soft cries of the ravens overhead a symphonic melody to the Viking’s ears who revered the creatures and saw them as good luck. “Odinn I bring you this sacrifice in the hopes that you will allow my sons to be strong and healthy when they are born into the world and aid in their protection until the Rite of Birth can be performed.” It was just that time that he had nudged his offering to the circling ravens that the howl ripped through the forest causing Ragnar to bristle. It had been too close, and Ragnar was territorial about Ravensblood because he intended to claim it as his own when the timing was more appropriate. He had a firm amount of wolves who had sworn fealty and loyalty to him and everything was set except Thistle couldn’t be moved and neither could his newborn children; neither could he betray Pump so thoroughly as that. To take her offered Beta rank and then hand it back to her. He would be her Second in Command for as long as Thistle and the children needed to remain due to health and then …then Ragnar intended to make his move.

Glimpsing once at the ravens in dismay he offered them a grim smile before he turned and headed towards the direction of the howl and the rapid beating of paws against the earth. Against sacred ground. Shrugging into the small clearing of space he barked sharply to command the attention of the sprinting creature, sharp, icy Caribbean blue eyes fixating upon the wolf who …appeared unwell (at least Ragnar was not sure why he would just keep running - if the worn path of the ground was any indication he had probably been at it for some time) to the silver Viking.

“Why are you in my Forest; causing all this noise?” The Viking asked with his trademark smirk on his face, his voice soft though his accent was thick and heavy. There was no indication of his annoyance, at the territorial urge to push this creature from his forest. For now, Ragnar stilled it because curiosity was the stronger pull. “The ravens don’t like it.” The Viking said matter-of-factly.

The earthen male that was acting as if he had consumed the drugged mushroom of the Berserker — or too many fermented apples as Ragnar knew from experience — by running around like a child given too much sugar came to a halt a few feet from the silver Viking who observed with stoic and cold eyes. The word ‘friend’ (Ragnar wasn’t keen on that word) did nothing for the Northman, though the slight bow of the earthen colored male’s head worked to pacify him for the time being. A glimpse upwards at the sound of beating wings confirmed that the two ravens, that Ragnar referred to as Odinn’s Huginn and Muininn (because in his mind they were) came into the party, cawing softly and lighting down on a nearby tree, their black eyes observing the two canines; likely to take the information back to the Allfather. Ragnar was well accustomed to how the ravens worked and that their purpose was to help Odinn truly see all. Healing leg shifted so it was facing the nearest tree trunk, pressed against it, the rough bark scraping against the silken tendrils of his fur. It helped to hide it and partially relieve the itch.

Ragnar listened but did not particularly find much interesting of what the other male had to say. Anguished piqued the Viking’s interest if dully as he wondered what, possibly the other male had to be anguished about, he seemed healthy, he belonged to a pack — Ragnar could scent it on him even before the introduction came and along with it came the name of his pack. Silvertip Mountain. It did not sound familiar to Ragnar but then again Horizon Ridge stuck mostly to themselves except when it was necessary not too. “What stresses are so great that you have to interrupt my prayers in my forest?” These lands were not yet his, but they could be. With just a quick gathering of the wolves he had collected into his fold but sent in opposite directions until the timing was right. Ragnar could claim them at that very second if he did not respect Pump as much as he did and if his wife wasn’t due to give birth in hours. Minutes, even. Ragnar could only hope that Odinn accepted the half-assed sacrifice and prayer. If his sons’ lives suffered for it, well now Ragnar had a name, a pack and a leader's to go off of for retribution.

As it was Ragnar hardly cared about Majesty’s plans though it was easy enough to piece the puzzle together from the words. Head canted bird-like to the side, exposing the scars that marked up his left half of his face, the (what was supposed to be a) disjointed raven (it wasn’t really Floki’s handwork sucked). Ragnar did not believe in giving his name or vital information when meeting strangers. It was a strange quirk he had always had even as a mere boy. Usually he was introduced by someone else who gave his name for him, or eventually gave it on his own days down the road. Upon coming to the Teekon Wilds he had even adopted a moniker to go by though he eventually shed it having realized he didn’t want to be doing good to his first idiot of a brother’s name. “You could howl your …anguish to the Gods elsewhere.” It was a subtle suggestion to ‘get lost’ without Ragnar being crude and blunt about it. Maybe the fact that he was on edge as the birth of his sons ticked nearer and nearer — what Ragnar considered true anxiety — was making his mood unbearable. Whatever the case, he was in no mood for other people's problems. Especially if they didn't concern him.

Ragnar did not share in the inherent fear of Ravens that everyone else seemed to have. They were symbols of death in his culture, yes, but they also meant that Odinn was watching. Always watching and listening. In the place of unease Ragnar felt only comfort by their presence. Ragnar watched the male draw himself to his full height as if that was supposed to intimidate Ragnar and proceeded to tell Ragnar that it was a “free” territory. Ragnar’s smirk simply deepened, turning more coy as his gaze remained relentless upon Majesty. Just because Ragnar hadn’t officially claimed it did not mean that he was not territorial over it — because Ragnar was extremely territorial over it as wolves tended to be (even pack wolves would get territorial over hunting grounds that were not in their borders). “Because you can’t smell my piss on it?” As far as Ragnar was concerned he had every right to be territorial about it, and if it was a matter of scent he would lift his leg and claim it right here and now and then figure out what he was going to tell Pump and Thistle. I got territorial and began claiming Ravensblood. I didn’t expect it to happen but I’m gathering my supporters and staking out my claim on it.

Ragnar wanted it. So bad in that moment, to the point where for the first time he wasn’t even thinking about his wife and their children, or his respect for Pump. He wanted it just to chase this little man out of his lands.

“It is my forest,” It wasn’t a negotiation and if to prove his point Ragnar lifted his injured leg and urinated on the tree he was standing nearest too. And now it was (well the tree was his, anyway). “That is the only reason? You’ve interrupted it already,” The Viking spoke, his soft voice taking a venomous tone. Ragnar snorted when the earthen male asked him what “anguished” him as if Ragnar was about to spill his personal feelings to a creature whom he didn’t even know — and of this moment didn’t seem to like. That was not the kind of man that Ragnar was, though he did not expect this man to know that. There was a fire burning in the Viking’s heart, and for a moment was stuck with horrific realization that he was not entirely in control of himself. In fact, he was barely in control of himself and wondered if this was not Odinn’s influence pushing him to do what he would not have normally done without a thought towards Pump, Thistle, of his children.

It was lucky that Ragnar remained ignorant to the thoughts that were running through the earthen colored man’s mind of tyranny. In fact, it had been spoken, Ragnar might have laughed at it and then argued that if he thought that Ragnar was a tyrant he had obviously never known a true tyrant; and then ask how being territorial of lands that while did not belong to him technically were still too close to Horizon Ridge, — which was perfectly normal for their species — refusing to share personal information, and being unsettled that his praying had been interrupted equaled to being a tyrant. Regardless, Ragnar did not know Majesty’s thoughts and never had the chance to argue his points because he did not realize that he needed too.

Ragnar’s black, leathery nostrils flared and he let out a loud snort, reminiscent of an angered bull, when the male bowed, unsure if it was meant to mock or be truly respectful — Ragnar was past the point of being able to tell the difference, currently, simply wanting this disgraceful creature gone from Odinn’s sacred forest. “I won’t,” The Viking muttered after the man, watching with satisfaction as he loped off back, presumably, to where he had came from. After ensuring the other would not return he headed back to where he had left his sacrifice hoping to be able to finish his prayers this time and hope that the Allfather was not upset by the interruption.